


Pretty in Pink (the Giving remix)

by rainshaded



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainshaded/pseuds/rainshaded
Summary: Pink is Ada's favourite colour. Witches don't really do pink.
Relationships: Ada Cackle/Hecate Hardbroom
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26
Collections: Hackle Remix Challenge 2020





	Pretty in Pink (the Giving remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minne_My](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pretty pink moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821370) by [Minne_My](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/pseuds/Minne_My). 



From the very first day, Hecate Hardbroom associated Ada Cackle with the colour pink.

* * *

It was the first week of the summer holidays and the weather was glorious. Hecate stood on the topmost turret and looked out over a landscape bathed in sunshine, an endless expanse of blue sky. Which was why she was the first person to see Ada Cackle return to Cackle’s.

Hecate watched with wary interest as the witch approached. Mrs Cackle had announced her eldest daughter’s permanent return to the staff at the end of term. She would be teaching Witchory, as Miss Moonshine was retiring. Eventually, of course, she would take over from her mother, though that might be a decade or so hence. Hecate wondered what that future Cackle’s might look like. Miss Bat had greeted the news with bright eyes and a wide smile, which suggested Ada Cackle was unlike her twin. Outside of that, Hecate’s imagination failed her.

Well, she was flying competently. Left-handed, Hecate noticed. Nothing too flashy or showy but a good solid technique.

The day had enough of a breeze to stop the sunshine being stifling. Up high, it was stronger, enough to fly flags and cause cloaks to billow in the approved fashion. Miss Cackle shifted on her broom and her cloak, freed from her weight, did just that. The pink sundress that was thus revealed seemed quite radiant in the light. The comparison that stuck in Hecate’s mind, as she turned and hurried back to her work, was that of a flower opening, all at once. A ridiculous notion, really, and not one that should be entertained.

* * *

Hecate was quite able to distract herself with work. Focussing on her project, she entirely forgot about the castle’s newest occupant. When she transferred to her corner of the gardens a week later, she was thinking only of collecting potions ingredients.

Miss Cackle lifted her head from her book as Hecate appeared. She was sat on a bench against a trellis of flowers: climbing clematis, useful for various enhancing potions. The wide pink flowers framing and tumbling around her form, clad in a flowing dress of a similar shade, certainly did that. Hecate was forcefully reminded of her previous errant thoughts.

“Well met, Miss Hardbroom.”

The formality jolted Hecate from her brief and hopefully unnoticed reverie. She bowed. “Well met, Miss Cackle.”

That done, she hesitated. She should turn away and get on with her work. She didn’t. Miss Cackle was still looking at her and Hecate felt strangely reluctant to move from her regard. It wouldn’t do to offend the school’s future headmistress on their first meeting, after all.

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?” Miss Cackle closed her book and made to stand.

“No,” Hecate said quickly. “No, it’s all right. I was just looking at the clematis.” Which was true enough, in a way.

Miss Cackle settled back, tipping her head to look at the flowers behind her. “Lovely, isn’t it? I know it’s unwitchy of me but pink is quite my favourite colour.”

Hecate didn’t know quite what to say to that. ‘I noticed’ invited questions. ‘It suits you’ was far too intimate.

Luckily, after a brief pause, Miss Cackle continued, “Do you come here often?”

“Quite often,” Hecate allowed.

“I don’t remember it at all from my schooldays.” She looked all around her. “It’s beautiful. Someone must put in a lot of work here.”

The arguments were well practised by now and came easily to Hecate’s tongue. “The savings on potions purchases alone make it an effective use of my time. There’s also benefits in terms of quality control and convenience.”

Miss Cackle’s head came sharply back round. “You did this?”

Hecate hesitated, then nodded.

A smile bloomed across Miss Cackle’s face. “My goodness. You clearly have green fingers.”

Disconcerted by what appeared to be admiration, Hecate sought to shift the conversation and inclined her head towards the book in Miss Cackle’s lap. “What are you reading?”

“Ah.” Miss Cackle held the book up, the title clearly visible to Hecate. “Don’t tell the girls. I’m brushing up on my Witchory.”

“Is it what you taught before?”

“On occasion. Spell Science is more my subject. But Mother saw an opportunity so Witchory it is.”

* * *

Hecate saw quite a lot of Miss Cackle over the summer holidays. Not always to talk to: sometimes she was just a passing figure in the grounds or the kitchen corridor. Often, she would sit and read by the clematis as Hecate harvested and gardened. On one occasion she stopped by the potions lab in what turned out to be the middle of the night, wearing her pyjamas, and enquired with surprising insight into Hecate’s project.

She was always, in some way, wearing pink.

Until the first day of term, when she wasn’t. Hecate couldn’t stop looking. It wasn’t just the colour, though that was what first caught her eye. The lines were all wrong, formal and structured and not flowing at all. It wasn’t her place to say anything, though, so she just watched.

Months went past. Perhaps Hecate got used to it. Perhaps that was why the sight of Miss Cackle on the first day of the Yuletide holiday hit her so hard, took her breath away. She’d forgotten. Miss Cackle wore a large pink jumper and a long black skirt that swayed as she moved and she moved with ease, with comfort, making clear what had been missing in the past term.

Hecate mourned it all the more when Miss Cackle returned to her term-time wardrobe.

* * *

The next time Hecate saw Ada—she was Ada now, in Hecate’s mind, an invitation accepted though she hadn’t been brave enough to actually voice it—in pink, it was the beginning of the summer holidays, nearly a full year since that first sighting. Ada in pink was a breath of fresh air, a sunshine brighter than the finest day, and Hecate decided to allow herself to enjoy it while it lasted.

There were plenty of opportunities. Ada quite often seemed to seek her out and spend time in her company. It made sense, Hecate thought. She was, after all, the closest in age to Ada by several decades. Their colleagues had probably all seen Ada grow up, taught her as they had Hecate. It was an uneven foundation to forge a relationship of equals on. And there were very few of them remaining in the castle over the summer months as it was.

“Are you sure I’m doing this right?”

Hecate glanced over. Ada was sitting back on her heels and frowning at the newly planted rose bushes, having paused in the process of mulching.

“I’m sure.”

“Is this enough? Too much? I’m no good with plants, I might have mentioned.”

“You might.” Hecate bent her head and let the corners of her mouth twitch up. Once or twice or a dozen times, after Hecate had hit upon the notion of offering a space to Ada and whatever flora she wished to add to the garden she so admired.

“I don’t want to kill them. Though you did say they were mine so they’re likely doomed.”

“They’ll be fine.” Hecate would make absolutely sure of it.

* * *

Hecate often preferred to have as few people around as possible. If the scarcity of company was what drove Ada to her side, smiling, often rosy with the heat and always bringing with her that peculiar, wonderful mix of comfortable silence and easy conversation, then she wished for it even more fervently than normal.

Never more so than upon Agatha Cackle’s latest brief return, two weeks before the end of that summer holiday. Hecate threw herself into her work, shutting herself away. She wasn’t party to what passed between the three Cackle witches but when she emerged, Ada seemed sad and shrivelled and had returned to her term-time wardrobe early.

* * *

Ada’s training with her mother seemed to take on a new intensity in the wake of Agatha’s visit. Her every spare moment seemed occupied; Hecate rarely saw her outside of mealtimes or passing in the corridor. It was quite a surprise to find her in the garden, a week before the Yuletide holidays.

She was sitting on the grass in front of her rose bushes. It had been raining recently and Hecate hoped, without much hope, that she had conjured something to sit on.

Ada hadn’t looked round as Hecate appeared but now observed, “They look rather dead.”

“Only dormant.”

“I can’t even keep plants alive,” Ada continued, as if she hadn’t heard. “How can I ever…”

“Ada,” Hecate said, and the name was still new and sweet in her mouth, and Ada finally looked at her. “They’re not dead. This just isn’t their time.”

Ada continued to look at her and Hecate ached to prove her words, to reassure. If she could have brought the rose bushes bursting forth into bloom, she would have. Some things could not be hurried.

It was a long moment before Ada dropped her gaze, addressing her words to the grass to Hecate’s left.

“I'm not sure it'll ever be mine. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

Hot denials rose swiftly in Hecate’s throat but she held them back. Here, she had been entrusted with something vital and delicate. It needed to be carefully teased apart, not smashed. “What makes you think that?”

Ada curled her fingers in the grass beside her. “I’m… soft and frivolous and sentimental. I’m no kind of proper witch.”

“That is quite the non-sequitur.” When Ada didn’t respond, Hecate continued, “Why do you think that?”

Looking back at Hecate, Ada’s lips twisted wryly and she gave a half-shrug. “Witches don’t really do pink.”

“Is that why you wear this?” Hecate inclined her head to indicate Ada’s all-wrong outfit.

“Mother said it was inappropriate. Didn’t set the proper example.”

“As far as I am aware,” Hecate began, choosing her words carefully, “there has not been any research that showed wearing pink to have a deleterious effect upon magical or mental ability. I am sure those in the vicinity will be similarly unaffected.”

Ada managed a smile.

“May I show you something?”

Hecate waited until Ada had clambered to her feet, drying her skirt with a wave of her hand, before leading the way. They stopped in front of a long, low clump of hellebores. Unlike almost everything else, they bore bright flowers.

“Non-magical people call these Christmas roses.” Hecate quirked an eyebrow and added, “Quite a stunning lack of horticultural accuracy.”

It had the desired effect. Ada’s smile was wider, her sound of amusement genuine. “What are they really?”

“They belong to the buttercup family. This is their time.” Hecate looked along the line and back at Ada, out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll find your balance. And you won’t be alone. I think we’ll all do very well indeed with such a fine Headmistress.”

Ada blinked rapidly and nodded. “Thank you, Hecate.” A few moments passed in silence before she drew a deep breath, let it out and turned to face Hecate. “Would you like to join me for tea?”

* * *

The rain had been inconvenient. Unable to spare any of her magic to stop it or even shield herself, Hecate had been soaked to the skin. She hadn’t allowed it to distract her, though. This was too important. It had to be tonight. She only hoped it would work.

She had determinedly not looked towards the windows as she and Ada enjoyed their late-night tea and biscuits, though had been unable to stop calculating the likelihood of success at the back of her mind. By the sounds of it, the rain had stopped some time ago. The sky might be clear enough. She let her gaze follow Ada as she moved to close the curtains and waited.

At Ada’s exclamation, Hecate hurried to look out over her shoulder. Yes, there it was. The moon was full and round and as pink as the confection Ada had so enjoyed on that seaside pier.

“How pretty!” Ada turned her head to look at Hecate. “Did you have something to do with this?”

Hecate raised an eyebrow, trying and failing not to smile. She knew Ada could see her own delight reflected in Hecate’s eyes. “It’s entirely a natural and coincidental phenomenon.”

“Of course.” Ada looked back to the window, leaning so close her breath steamed the glass. “Otherwise it would be a truly astonishing and spectacular gesture.”

She stayed like that for a few moments before turning back and opening her arms for an embrace Hecate happily stepped into. Ada clutched her tight.

“Perhaps we could leave the curtains for tonight?” Her words were a little muffled against Hecate.

“As you wish.”

Behind them, the pretty pink moon hung in the sky, marking the night before the day that Ada Cackle would become Headmistress of Cackle’s Academy.


End file.
